Here is an attempt to delve into the vast and complex web of life.
An expanse of stars glints from underneath your eyelids,
And from underneath my own.
Each star is just a trace of a hidden galaxy,
Broken constellations floating in the depths of a sky that is too vast to comprehend,
Though we have all of humanity trying to do so.
And is there anything so real as the mazes that hide within our own minds, constantly fraught with the pacing of a hundred feet as the world tries to get in and change us?
Is there anything so real as the light years of travel we must partake in only to reach the walled hearts of the people that we hope to touch? That we hope to find, even as they hope to get away from us and hide their world from our reaching arms?
And really, is there anything so real as the feeling of floating we get when we realize that we just launched into flight in a universe that has no gravity? That we just tested out our new wings on the inside of our minds and found that they led us to nowhere more than the familiar haunts and homes of a thousand journeys?
Because it takes a lot more than wings to change. More than a leap of faith, more than a glimpse into someone else's universe. To change is to round up all the stars that float haphazardly through our minds and rearrange them into something beautiful, because nothing can be created or destroyed, only reformed and given out, absorbed into something new just as the world absorbs us when we finally find ourselves breathless and defeated.
And where do our universes go when the world opens its arms and brings us home? Where do all the coded messages and whirring clocks disappear to when the stars disappear from behind out eyelids? Do they, like the own beating of our hearts simply fade away, their energy seeping into the grass and the flowers they throw onto our graves as they wish us happiness in the existence we've just ceased to have?
Where does it all go? Do we, like the ash of a thousand fires, simply create the foundation for a new forest, wishing the lives of a hundred beings to grow from us? Or do we sink, neck deep, into our own unravelling and wait for all the lights of the universe to cease within our consciousness?
I cannot find the answers, not through words, not through the careful probing into someone else's universe. All I know is that a thousand stars glimmer behind your eyelids and a thousand more behind my own.